


we were all forgiven, even though we didn't deserve it.

by machiavelling (starstiel)



Series: an unquenchable flame, all consuming and never satisfied. [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Female-Centric, Implied Sexual Content, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 12:01:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8101645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstiel/pseuds/machiavelling
Summary: Her eyes are harsh when she looks at him, but then all of her is harsh. From the glaciers of her irises, to the severe sharp cut of her hair, down to her calloused hands. She's killed so many with those hands, nearly killed him with them, but now when she reaches towards him, she's gentle, considerate. Her dirty fingers encircle his wrist like a shackle, but it isn't that, and he knows it.Her eyes soften.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Richard Siken's "Litany in Which Certsin Things Are Crossed Out."
> 
> The first in a series of DA character centered fics, because I'm self indulgent. This reads as sort of vague and I wrote it out of order, so. Also not beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

 

_We are the Couslands, and we do what must be done._

 

* * *

 

Fergus and Colette do not discuss their parents. They do not discuss their light light hair, and their depthless eyes. They do not discuss how they don't look anything like their parent's children ought to.

Mother's eyes are blue and green like the Waking Sea (and Colette can remember seeing those endless waters as a child. Fergus had hoisted her over his shoulder and threatened to throw her over the docks and she had screamed and laughed in delight. Mother had scolded them for making a scene, but those eyes, those eyes held such a fondness). Before Mother's hair started to grey, it was the color of dark honey, flowing in rivulet ringlets down her back, a waterfall to her waist. Colette's hair is the color of sunlight, straight and smooth, cut in a precise line above her shoulders.

Father's eyes are the color of the sky at night, when there are no clouds and the stars shine down so bright and clear (he tells her all the constellations, tells her what star points north, tells her that somewhere beyind them the Maker and Andraste are smiling their favor down on her. Colette had only laughed, because she was thirteen and noble and did not need the Maker's favor when she could make her own). Fergus' eyes are a mirror of his sisters, the color of a storm cloud hours before the rain, or of the silver jewelry that Mother likes to wear.

But they do not discuss any of this.

They work it out as children, because they're both exceptionally clever, observant, with a mind for strategy. Just like Mother, like Father.

Bryce Cousland is sterile. He is sterile, but after all he went through to reclaim Highever in his family name, he will not lose it to lack of an heir. Eleanor Cousland knows this, is a smart woman,  as ambitious as she is cunning. The Seawolf, they called her, and she has a gaze as sharp as steel and a charm as smooth as silk. They know what needs to be done to keep them safe, keep them in power, and they do it. Bryce Cousland is sterile, but Eleanor Cousland is not, and they need a child. It is not so hard, really, to see the solution.

Eleanor does what she must, and so then her belly grows with twins that aren't Bryce's, but are Couslands nonetheless. Her hips widen, her breasts swell, and soon they have a boy and a girl and they love the both of them so dearly. Fergus is born first, and he never lets Colette forget it. He calls her  _little sister_ whenever he gets the chance, even though he is hardly bigger than her at all, even though more often than not she is the one looking after him.

They do not discuss their parents, but they love them all the same.

 

* * *

 

When Colette is ten, Eleanor teaches her how to fight. It's at Colette's insistence, as Fergus has already been learning for months, and she had taken no small offence to the idea the he could fight and she could not. Neither of Highever's rulers ever tried to dissuade her from the notion, only said that she must also keep up her studies. Colette had agreed eagerly, and so Eleanor teches her how to fight. Mother is more skilled with a sword and shield, but Colette never really takes to either. She is more suited to daggers, quick and small like her, quiet and deadly like she hopes to be. Mother still teaches her all she can; how to dodge, how to throw a punch, how to get past a shield. Colette is a natural, moves like the breeze, and when Mother can teach her no more, she finds someone who can.

By the time she is fifteen, Colette can best her brother when they spar, out in the shade of the great oak tree next to her window, the one they used to climb as children. She moves silently, doesn't make a single noise when she walks through the castle, and has on more than one occasion frightened her father half to death sneaking up on him.

"Pup!" He called her, face etched into a frown, but he sounds as amused as Colette looks. "I'm sure you're meant to be studying right about now."

Colette shrugs, leans over to inspect the map he'd been looking over. "Sorry, Papa. Nan says the Howes are going to be arriving soon. Nathaniel is going to teach me how to shoot a bow."

"You already know how to shoot a bow." Father arches an eyebrow. "Better than Nathaniel Howe can, I'd bet." He sounds so sure, so proud, and he is. This is his daughter, and she succeeds at anything she wants to succeed at, just like her mother.

"Perhaps," Colette laughs. "But Nathaniel doesn't know that."

She can hear her father's laughter, when she slinks back down the hall.

 

* * *

 

Four years pass.

King Cailan rallies a call to arms. Colette meets a Grey Warden. Fergus leads an army.

The Howes betray them. Her family dies. Her home burns.

 

* * *

 

It takes weeks to get to Ostagar, or she thinks it might. Eventually she looses track of the days; she sleeps when Duncan tells her to, eats when he gives her food, kills the bandits that try to rob them in the middle of nowhere. She ends up with a nasty scar on her left shoulder, but she doesn't really think much about it. She doesn't really think much about anything anymore. The only thing she has left of Highever is her dog, and he lost an eye during their fight out, and he seems just as miserable as she is. She goes with Duncan now only because of Fergus, alone and waiting for her in the wilds.

When they arrive, Colette meets the king. He seems a kind man, but Colette doesn't have any use for kindness. "Arl Howe killed my family." She tells him. It's the first thing she's said since they left Highever, and she doesn't recognize the sound of her own voice. The king promises justice, but only after the war is won, and Colette burns inside. She doesn't care about the war. She doesn't care about Wardens or Darkspawn or Archdemons. She wants Rendon Howe dead. She wants her family to be alive again. She wants to hear Fergus call her _little sister_. Nothing else matters.

But Duncan tells her to find another warden, tries to take her dog away. The mabari snarls, nearly bites the Warden's hand off. "He stays with me." Colette says, and there must be something in her expression because Duncan only nods, and turns to leave.

The warden they meet calls himself Alistair, and acts so much like Fergus it makes her ache. Colette is angry, but more than that she is sad, the kind of sorrow that goes down to your bones and does not leave. Alistair picks up on this almost immediately, isn't put off in the slightest when she snaps at him, just laughs and pats her dog on the head.

They go to the wilds and they don't find her brother.

She becomes a Grey Warden and they don't find her brother.

The horde comes and they don't find her brother.

She is betrayed again and they don't find her brother.

 

* * *

 

The witch named Morrigan saves her life, but Colette can't find it within herself to be grateful. She wants to stay here, curled up in this strange bed until the Taint spreads over the land and takes her with it. But Morrigan tells her Alistair is waiting for her outside, and Colette pulls herself out of bed, keeps one hand buried in the scruff of her dog's fur.

When Alistair sees her, he gathers her into a hug. He smells like sweat and blood and smoke, and Colette hasn't been touched without violence in such a long time, she doesn't know quite what to do.

"Duncan is dead." He says into her hair, and Colette had figured, but doesn't say anything. She didn't know Duncan, not really, and felt mostly resentment after he had dragged her kicking and screaming from Highever. She'll never tell him any of this, though. Right now she just runs her fingers down the back of his hair and hopes he doesn't feel like she does. "We're the only ones left."

 _Yes_ , she thinks, looking over his shoulder at her dog, _the only ones left_.

 

* * *

 

Except they're not the only ones, not really. The witch with all of her cutthroat dismissal joins them, though she seems reluctant to part from her mother (so many of them are left without parents now). The woman in the Chantry, with her red hair and single soft braid, who can sing and fire an arrow with equal skill. The qunari she lets out of the cage and takes and instant liking to, with his brutal honesty and his brutal blade.

On their way from Redcliffe (where a boy is possessed by a demon because  _of fucking course_ he is, and Colette watches a mother die for their child, and doesn't want to feel anything at all but she does, she feels dread and anger boiling inside of her stomach), they travel to the village of Honnleath (where another child is possessed, but this one she manages to save without the death of anything but the demon). They aquire a golem.

They travel to the Circle (where  _everyone_ is possessed or dead or dying), and pick up an old woman with a kind face and a no nonsense attitude that reminds her of Nan. A templar tells her to kill every mage left alive and she does not spare him a second glance, just leaves him and marches up the stairs to kill the demon. Colette's never had much experience with magic, but she decides she hates the Fade, and she hates the Circle, she hates demons and templars, hates that she had to come here at all. They leave with the promise of aid from the mages, and Wynne joins them.

Colette doesn't want to be their friend (her attachment to Alistair could hardly be helped, with him fitting nicely in the space her brother's absence leaves in her heart). She thinks they're going to die, all of them. They're going to die, and Colette is going to die, and the Blight will spread through the land until it is reborn again. She doesn't want to be their friend. But.

But Morrigan, with her old magic, shifting from woman to spider to bird the way one might change clothes. The way she sits so far away in camp but does her share to help out everyone else. Morrigan with her golden mirror. The way she seems to not want to be friends with any of them either, but can't help herself any more than Colette can.

But Leliana, who sings when Alistair and Colette have a terrible dream about the Archdemon. With her love of all things pretty, especially her beautiful blue shoes. The way she tries to teach them Orlesian, and they all fail at it miserably. Leliana, who has more faith in the Maker than Colette ever has, more than she ever will again.

But Sten, who steals cookies from children and picks flowers. The way he once bandaged her up after a fight, and doesn't worry like Alistair and Leliana might, or scold her for not getting it fixed sooner like Wynne would. Sten, who just uses her large rough hands to wrap cloth around the cut on her leg, tells her she did what needed to be done.

But Wynne, with her pink robes, and her grey hair. The way she makes sure they're all fed, warm, healthy. With her soft heart and her tough mind. Who cuts Colette's hair when it starts to grow too long. Wynne, who is like Mother and like Nan, but also not like either of them at all.

Colette doesn't want to be their friend. But she doesn't want to die alone either.

 

* * *

 

 An elf tries to kill them.

They're on their way to Haven, and an elf tries to kill them. This is not a particularly new experience, people have been trying to kill her since Highever, but this feels different. She can't say how, at first, but it just feels wrong. Like an assassination attempt that gave up half way through. They kill the mage, they kill the archers, they kill the others, but the elf lives.

Colette is tempted to slit his throat then and there, but she has questions, and the elf can't answer if he's dead. The last thing she needs is some sort of organization with a particular hatred of Grey Wardens storming the camp while they sleep. She pins the elf's arms down with her knees, places her dagger under his chin and presses the blade against his throat, and his eyes flutter open.

He seems confused, but only for a moment. "You know," he says. "I usually like to establish a watch word _before_ the knives come out. Or at least names."

"I have questions." Colette's voice is flat, presses the point of her blade just so, and a little red drop slides down his neck. Beneath her, he squirms.

"I did assume, what with my still being alive and all." The elf says, and then he tells her everything. His name is Zevran Arainai. He is an Antivan Crow. He was sent to kill the last of the Fereldan Grey Wardens.

" _Who_ sent you?" Colettes asks, and finally pulls her dagger away. She hears Alistair shift behind her, but does not take her eyes off of the elf.

"Ah. Some man in Denerim. Loghain, I think his name was. The man who first contacted me was named Howe." The elf says, and Colette sees red. Alistair scoffs and curses Loghain, Morrigan makes some sort of disparaging comment at his expense, her dog snuffles. But all she can see is her father, bleeding out on the floor, and Armanthine soldiers burning her home.

Colette gets off of him and onto her feet in one smooth motion, watches as the elf stands too. She means to tell him to go back to Howe, to tell him she is coming, that she has not forgotten, but Zevran speaks before she can.

She isn't expecting him to ask to stay, but what's more surprising is that she lets him. Colette doesn't know why she does. He certainly doesn't seem a trust worthy sort, and he's likely to kill her in her sleep.

Maybe she still wants to die.

Maybe it doesn't matter.

 

* * *

 

Zevran is with them for a week and a half before Colette finally has an actual conversation with him. He hasn't killed them yet, and she assumes that he truly is a man of his word then. Or at least, he is a man of  _this_ word, as he has had no problem lying when it's to their advantage. Or maybe he is waiting for them to drop their gaurd; Morrigan still won't eat anything he cooks and Alistair hasn't stopped glaring at him since she let him live. Colette can't know for sure, and if she's honest, she doesn't care.

They're on watch, and Colette is walking the perimeter of the camp while Zevran puts a bit more wood onto the fire. It's getting colder, and they're starting to have to risk larger fires in the night to keep warm. When she tires of walking, she sits beside him, looking into the fire and seeing Highever. They sit in uncomfortable silence before he can't seem to stand it anymore.

He tells her about the Crows, tells her about Antiva, about slavery, about leather boots. She tells him about Fergus, tells him about sweet Iona, about Highever, about training every morning. Colette hasn't talked about any of that in months, not to anyone but Alistair. But Zevran listens and she talks well past their shift on watch, but he doesn't complain. When the words turn bitter and sorrowful in her mouth, he starts talking about a mission he had as a Crow, how it went horribly wrong, exaggerates and talks in funny voices and it makes her laugh. The sound startles her; she can't remember the last time she laughed at anything at all.

Zevran is not aware of this though, and so he only leans in closer. "Hush now, _mi_ _luz de sol_ , that is not even the end of the story! I haven't even gotten to the part about the cheese wheel, yet."

They talk until Wynne stirs from her tent, and scolds the both of them for letting her sleep in. She wakes Alistair, and send them both off to bed and Zevran wiggles his eyebrows at her, suggests they share a tent, and Colette only laughs again before going to her own.

 

* * *

 

In Haven they find a cult and they find a scholar. They find a dragon. They _kill_ a dragon. The whole thing is exhausting, and Colette doesn't see why they're bothering, chasing after a legend, but evidently the entirety of Redcliffe doesn't know how to function without Arl Eamon. Alistair seems annoyed when she voices that particular complaint though, so she doesn't bring it up again. She gets it, though. He's like family, and if you think there's a way to save your family, you do it.

They get into the inner circle of the temple, and they meet a gaurdian. He asks invasive questions about all of them, and Colette resists the urge to hit him. He seems a bit ghostly, and she finds herself wondering if there's really anything to hit at all.

Alistair says he'd have been better off dead, and Colette's heart contracts painfully in her chest. She knows that feeling, but doesn't know how to tell him that, so she just squeezes his hand in hers and looks at him. The Gaurdian asks her if she feels guilty, and she snarls at him.  _Of course_ she feels guilty. She left her family to die. She says she wishes she'd died with them, and she means it. Zevran doesn't let the man finish speaking before he interrupts, cutting him off with a harshness she has not seen on him before. When she turns to look at him, he will not meet her eyes.

In the next room, Colette feels the breath get knocked out of her. "Papa." Her voice is so small, so shaken, and her knees give way. Zevran catches her before she can hit the ground, and Alistair helps steady her. She knows it isn't Father, not really. Father is dead, and this is only the Gauntlet playing tricks with her mind, but she doesn't care. "Papa, I'm so sorry.  _I'm so sorry_. I should have saved you, I should have saved Mother, and I lost Fergus, and I-"

"Pup," says Father, his voice gentle and familiar and she weeps. "None of that is your fault. If you had stayed you would have died too, and who would be left to look after your brother then?"

"I don't know where he is. I don't know if he's even  _alive_ at all."

"You do know." Father shakes his head, and Colette resists the urge to reach out to him. To curl into his safe arms the way she did as a child after a nightmare. "You feel it in your heart that he's alive. Your mother always told you to trust your gut, and here you go, doubting yourself."

"Papa." She says again, voice barely more than a whisper now.

"You have to forgive yourself, Pup. There's nothing you could have done differently that would have saved us. Your mother and I are together. Fergus is alive and waiting for you. You have friends who love you. Your guilt has no place here." Father has that same expression on his face, the one he gets when he's proud of her, and Colette wipes her eyes.

"I miss you, Papa."

"I know, Pup." He says, and then he is gone and Colette feels heavy, but also somehow lighter than she has in months, like he's taken something out of her.

She presses forward.

They find the ashes, and perhaps a year ago Colette would have been in awe, but as it is now she hardly cares at all, is about as impressed with the whole thing as Sten seems to be. She keeps this to herself though, lets Leliana have her moment with the Urn before she's filling a pouch with Andraste's ashes.

At camp, none of them speak to each other much at all, save for establishing watch rotations, and serving what little dinner they have left. She thinks they have just enough left to last until Redcliffe, if they don't catch anything else and ration properly. She is thinking about all of this, doing a mental checklist of their remaining supplies, and so she does not notice Zevran when he first comes near her.

He clears his throat, and he looks a bit uncomfortable. "I never knew my father. Or my mother, really, for that matter, so I cannot imagine-"

Her eyes are harsh when she looks at him, but then all of her is harsh. From the glaciers of her irises, to the severe sharp cut of her hair, down to her calloused hands. She's killed so many with those hands, nearly killed him with them, but now when she reaches towards him, she's gentle, considerate. Her dirty fingers encircle his wrist like a shackle, but it isn't that, and he knows it.

Her eyes soften.

"It's okay. I know. Thank you." Colette doesn't smile, but she doesn't look angry anymore either. "Go to sleep, Zevran."

 

* * *

 

The first time they kiss, it's in the Deep Roads (and it's the  _only_ thing about the Deep Roads she cares to remember at all).

Alistair and Zevran are on watch, but she's awake too, sitting up in her sleeping roll and watching their silhouettes on the dark. Beside her, Oghren (who didn't ask to join them, so much as stated he was going to. Loudly. And they need all the help they can get down here, really, so she didn't mind) is snoring on her right, and Leliana is curled up on her left, a furrowed brow marring her soft features. None of them have been doing well since they came down here, and Leliana seems to be fairing worst of all, though she hardly voices a complaint. Shale's been experiencing some odd form of deja vu that they want to further investigate. It will lengthen their trip, but it seems important. Colette lets out a sigh, doesn't look up when one of the silhouettes moves closer.

" _Mi l_ _uz de sol,_ " Zevran says, sits beside her. "You are meant to be asleep." Colette does not answer him and he sighs. "You're no good to us exhausted. I do not blame you, of course, you always find the most dreadful places to drag us."

She scoffs, shoves his shoulder with her own. "I hate that we need these dwarves at all. Bickering about what power hungry asshole they're going to stick on the throne, making us do their dirty work. We've been down here _half a month_ , I can hardly remember what the sun looks like."

"Ah, I do not have that problem." Zevran says, and he sounds smug, like he knows something she doesn't. "But we will be out soon enough, no? This  _Anvil of the Void_ is close by."

"I'm worried one of you is going to going to die before we get there." Colette says, and the statement is abrupt, makes Zevran furrow his brow.

He takes her hand in his, kneads his fingers into her palm, down her wrist. "I would not worry so much. What's a few more Darkspawn between us? And you lot are exceptionally hard to kill, I know, I've tried!"

Colette huffs out what might be a laugh, but might also be a sigh. He can't really tell. She watches his hands, so dark in contrast to her own, and rests her head on his shoulder. "Do you ever wish you had stayed in Antiva? It must have been better."

Zevran's hands still, but only so briefly that she might have missed it were she not paying such close attention to them. "There is nothing for me in Antiva." He says. "Granted, this is not the ideal vacation I was hoping for, but alas. It has it's benefits. The company is certainly lovely."

It's not a new thing, Zevran saying these sorts of things. He says them to everyone, all the time, and normally she doesn't care. Zevran flirting is as sure a thing as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. But his voice is low and soft against the crown of her head, and she can feel the heat of his body at her side. It's a simple enough thing, to sit up straight and press her lips to the corner of his mouth. He doesn't move, and she doesn't deepen the kiss anymore than that, but she can feel him start to smile when she pulls away.

"You see? It is not so bad, being away from home." Zevran chuckles, and Colette smiles, and there is the briefest moment of peace before Alistair whistles, and everyone is on their feet.

Darkspawn ruin  _everything_.

 

* * *

 

After Orzammar, they go the forest. The Dalish don't trust them very much, not that she blames them, and so they set up camp a ways down the trail, far enough from the aravels to make the clan feel comfortable, but close enough to get there in a hurry. Unsurprisingly, the Dalish have their own issues, and Colette fails to see how werewolves compare to the Blight, but evidently it's not up for discussion.

They hike through the woods, killing werewolves and Darkspawn alike, and they camp by the tree that speaks in rhymes.

One day they settle down early, after a particularly nasty scrap with the wolves that leaves Colette with a scratch across her right hip. It's not so deep that it needs to be stitched up, and Wynne's magic heals most of it up, but it's sure to scar. Sitting in her tent now, in nothing more than her underwear, she sees many scars she didn't have before. Little knife wounds on her arms, an ugly circular one on her thigh from what she assumes was an arrow, not to mention all the bruises, but those will fade fast. When Zevran pokes his head through one of the tent folds, she doesn't bother to cover up, unashamed of her nudity. It's a requirement, traveling the way they do. They don't find many suitable places to bathe, and most of them aren't safe enough to risk going alone. If you can't trust someone with your vulnerability, you certainly can't trust them to have your back in a fight.

"How is that wound, _mi luz de sol_? Better now?" He says, slipping into the too small space. They're only here for the night, so they don't feel the need to set up all the tents. Even Morrigan is sharing, to her displeasure, but she actually seems to like Sten.

"You worry too much, Zevran."

"I worry just enough, my dear warden! And do not think I didn't notice that you did not answer." His voice is light and teasing, the way it always seems to be.

Colette grabs one of his hands, and places it on her stomach where the angry pink flesh of her fastly healing scar ends. "You tell me."

Zevran's fingers trace along the line, and her muscles twitch beneath his touch. He reaches the edge of her sleeping shorts, and slips his hand undeneath. He doesn't stray from his path though, moving to the outside of her thigh. Colette sighs, and he laughs at her, the bastard.

"You're horrible." She says.

"Yes," He says. "A menace." And then he kisses her.

He takes the anger from her mouth, and in return she gives him the only freedom he's ever known.

 

* * *

 

In Denerim, she can't think about anything but Arl Howe (Anora is only an afterthought, really).

He is so close, and she is going to kill him. She isnt going to cut him down, the way his army cut down Iona, Ser Gilmore, her baby nephew, her father, her mother-

"And so here is the mighty Grey Warden at last. The Crows send their greetings, once again." The man at the top of the stairs says, and Zevran goes still beside her.

"Taliesen." He says, sounds surprised, but also resigned. Like he knew this man would show up eventually, but didn't know it would be now. They speak, and it seems personal, so Colette doesn't interrupt until-

"You can return with me, Zevran. I know why you did this, and I don't blame you. It's not too late. Come back and we'll make up a story. Anyone can make a mistake." The man says, and Colette reaches for Zevran's hand.

"Of course, I'd have to be dead first." She says, sounds angry, but she is filled with mostly fear. The thought of losing him sends a cold wave of dread through her that she hadn't been expecting. They never talk about it, what they are. They're friends, to be sure. Zevran had sworn an oath of loyalty, but to _her_ and not to  _her and him_. He's never said that he has any expectations, and she supposes she didn't either until just now.

"And I'm not about to let that happen." Zevran says, looking at her with his warm brown eyes ( _t_ _here is a tenderness to his gaze I'd never seen till now,_ Wynne's voice echoes in the back of her head).

They kill the man, and Zevran looks regretful. She brushes his hair out of his eyes, asks who he was. "Later," he promises. "Just about now I think there's an Arl waiting for you to kill him. As you do."

 

* * *

 

Anora's hand maiden stresses secrecy, getting in a getting out without being noticed, but Colette is hardly listening at all.  _Just get me in,_ she thinks,  _just get me to him._

When she does finally reach him, she grins, wild and feral.

"Well, well. Bryce Cousland's little spitfire, all grown up and still playing the man." Howe says, and Colette draws her daggers.

"You're going to die screaming." Colette says.

"I made your mother kiss my boot; it was the last thing your father saw." His face is contorted into a sneer, he stands with his arms crossed, but it's not defensive. He isn't afraid, not one bit. He thinks she's going to die. He's wrong.

 _She would have sooner spat in your face while my father laughed_. Colette thinks, but doesn't give him the satisfaction. "And I will be the last thing you see." She says instead, and then she moves forward.

Behind her, her companions move. Leliana puts an arrow through the mage's heart. Zevran and Alistair keep the gaurds off of her. Colette is single minded, a hurricane, and great storm heading to ruin. Howe has his own daggers out now, but he still isn't completely concerned. Alistair cries out behind her, and she turns just in time to see a blade slice the back of his leg, but he manages to whirl on them, bash the underside of their chin with his shield.

The distraction is an opening for Howe, and he moves in the corner of her eyes. She ducks, and a blade slices where her throat would have been. A kick to his ankles throws him off balance, but he doesn't go down. Colette stands, drives her elbow into his ribs and he grunts. It's a satisfying sound.

The noise behind her is dying down, and she realizes the rest of their adversaries are all almost dead. None of them make a move towards Howe.

He sweeps his sword out to the side, and Colette blocks it with her own. With the other, she cuts deep into his arm and on reflex he drops the blade. He stumbles back, and Colette moves forward, predatory. He makes a last attempt with his dagger, and she dodges it with ease, the way Mother taught her to.

Colette's dagger is sharp enough to slide between the left side of his ribs. When he falls back, she goes with him, pinning him down the way she did with Zevran, all those months ago.

"Maker spit on you. I desered  _more_." Howe says, and blood and spit run out of the corner of his mouth.

"You are getting exactly what you deserve." Colette says. She drops her blades, and cups his face with her hands "Look at me, Howe."

He does. And then she digs her thumbs into his eyes and he screams as she tears them from their sockets.

When he is dead, she stands, feels the sickly sweet revenge course through her, and feels more at ease than she has in a very long time. Her family is still dead. Her home is still so far away. She has still been through so many horrible things, and none of them can be taken back. But at least this one wrong has been righted as much as it ever can be.

Her hands are bloody and slippery when she slides her daggers back into their sheaves. "Let's go." She says, and her companions do not say anything at all, but they follow her.

 

* * *

 

When they get back to the Eamon's estate, she is still covered in blood. They kill Ser Cautherin on the way out, and she is utterly exhausted. Zevran comes with her to her room, and makes her stand at the edge of the bed. He takes off his own armor first, and then her's. Slowly, methodically. There's no rush here, like there usually is at camp, no need to work around clothes or worry about the others, but Zevran isn't undressing her for the same reason he would at camp either. He doesn't mention the way she's shaking, or that she hasn't said a word to him yet. When she's naked, he guides her to the bath (she doesn't know why it's here, but she assumes Alistair sent for it, and makes a note to thank him).

He washes the blood off of her hands with a clean white cloth, he rinses her hair and combs it through, he wipes the dirt off of her face, scrubs the sweat from her back. "Come along,  _mi luz de sol_." Zevran says when he is finished.

Her skin is still wet when she lays on the bed, but it doesn't matter. Zevran peels off the rest of his clothes and climbs in beside her. He doesn't say anything about her damp hair when she curls around him, just runs his fingers through it.

"Tell me about Taliesen." She says, and he goes rigid for a moment. "You never told me why you left Antiva, is all. The real reason. You don't have to, of course. Not if you don't wanna."

But he does tell her. He tells her about Taliesen, about the girl named Rinna. About how he never had never felt regret like that until she died. About how he had thought the Grey Wardens would kill him. About how he wanted them to. She tells him she understands and he says that he knows she does.

He presses an earing into her palm.

Colette smiles. "You proposing to me, Arainai?"

"If that's what you want,  _mi luz de sol_." Zevran says.

She slips it onto her finger.

 

* * *

 

At the Landsmeet, Colette wants to be anywhere else. She wants to be curled up in the only actual bed she's slept in for a year back at Eamon's estate. She wants to be out, looking for Fergus. She wants the have Zevran's back to her, settled between her legs while she braids his hair back. But she's here.

She's in clean clothes, hair washed, and the center of attention. She tells the Nobles about Howe's prisoners. About the elves being sold into slavery. About everything Loghain has done or let be done. She tells them the Blight is coming, that they should be afraid.

And they listen.

She thinks Riordan had the right of it in the end. Loghain would have served a better purpose as a Warden than as a dead man, she but will not deny Alistair his vengeance. And that's what it is, though no one has called it that. He has the same look on his face when he beheads the Teryn as Colette did when Howe died with a scream in his mouth.

Colette agrees to put Anora on the throne, but only if she shares her rule with Alistair. He has a good heart and she has a savvy mind, and they'll work well together as rulers. Whether their marriage is in name only is up to them, and Colette doesn't care either way. Alistair seems disgruntled, but not miserable, and it's enough for her. He'll adjust. He'll be safe and happy and he will be looked after. It's all she's wanted for him, all she's wanted for any of them.

They're so close. They still have an army to fight. They still have an Archdemon to kill. Riordan says a Grey Warden has to die to kill an Archdemon.

"Right," Colette says. "Fucking typical."

Alistair says he'll do it, and Colette scoffs. "You're going to be  _king,_ Alistair. You can't just sacrifice yourself, I won't let you."

"Anora can-"

"No." Colette says, and it's very final. "If Riordan fails, I kill the Archdemon. You have people who need you alive."

Alistair frowns at her. "So do you."

 

* * *

 

Morrigan has a solution. The way she always does. Neither of them die.

 

* * *

 

It's less satisfying than she thought, it would be, killing the Archdemon. Most of the Darkspawn retreat, but there's enough to still do harm. Denerim is damaged in a way that will not quickly be repaired or forgotten. Morrigan is gone. There's still a coronation to be had. But more than all of this, Colette is tired. She's spent the last year pushing forward, and exhaustion is finally settling down into her bones now that she gives it the chance to catch up.

In Denerim's palace, the noise of their victory party surrounds her. Leliana is in a pretty dress, in her pretty new shoes, playing the lute with the other bards. Oghren is, predictably, drinking Sten's weight in ale. Wynne is speaking amiably with a group Colette doesn't recognize, but assumes are mages from the Circle. Shale is glaring out of the window at a flock of bird by the fountain outside. Sten is standing, rigid and uncomfortable with a black dog she's never seen before beside him. Her own dog is getting pampered by a group of noble children. Alistair is in golden armor, a crown on his head that he'd complained about being too heavy.

And Zevran is at her side, leaning up to kiss her.

It's peaceful, content, but it isn't right, not really, not when-

"Little sister," A voice says behind her. Colette knows that voice, she'd know it anywhere.

She doesn't even look at him when she tuns, not at first. She only throws her arms around him and squeezes tight enough to leave bruises. Her tears are unbidden when they slide down her cheeks and onto his shoulder, but she doesn't care. Fergus is alive. He's safe.

"You're here.  _You're here_." She says, breathless when she pulls back and so full of joy.

"Sorry about the wait." Fergus grins down at her and Colette laughs. He tells her about his scouting party, how he got injured and the Chasind took care of him. "I heard about Howe. I heard you were alive, but I did not believe it until the Archdemon was dead. If anyone was going to stop the Blight faster than anyone ever has, it was going to be my little sister."

Fergus slings his arm around her right shoulder, and Zevran threads his fingers through her left hand, where his earing is wrapped around her finger.

 

* * *

 

Whatever happens next won't matter. What matters is that she won't be alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe how little dialogue there is in this, my writing's usually 70% dialogue. This was mostly to put all my feelings about my warden somewhere. I might write a follow up for the events of Awakening and Inquisition, but it won't be for a while.
> 
> Also, I never mentioned it in the fic, but the dog's name is Stitches. He's the real hero tbh.


End file.
